LOSING MY FRIEND JONATHAN WINTERS

It was a stunning loss, especially the way I learned it. I was driving home listening to the news on WOAM when the reporter announced Jonathan Winters had died. I couldn’t believe it. We had talked as usual about three weeks before. While frail in voice, I had no idea he was close to death. For almost eleven years we had talked every two to three weeks. The phone conversations were long, sometimes lasting an hour and a half. We covered everything from his family challenges to the economy and the Obama administration. Jonathan was a Republican and held conservative views so we had no problem discussing politics. Once he called and asked whether he should publicly endorse John McCain for President knowing the liberal media and the entertainment industry would be on him like a skin disease. He said Republicans in California had sought his endorsement. I advised him not to do so. He didn’t. I don’t know whether my advice was instrumental in his decision or not, but I was flattered that he even asked for it.

He loved to talk about how some people would challenge him in restaurants in Santa Barbara where he sometimes ate. No, it wasn’t physical confrontations. They would just say things to him like, “I never did think you were funny,” to which Jonathan would reply, “Well, neither did my mother and father.” On another occasion a woman asked, “Are you who I think you are?” He would respond with, “I don’t know. Who do you think I am?” The ensuing conversation would rapidly go downhill.

I knew we had a close and personal relationship when he called late one night to tell me his wife, Eileen, was dying. I knew she had been fighting breast cancer for years. Eileen, he said, was not expected to live the night. The phone rang shortly after 6:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m. Pacific Coast time, and it was Jonathan with the sad news of her passing. He talked about her for an hour and a half including how they met and the support she gave him in his struggles with alcohol and depression. When we hung up I couldn’t believe he felt so comfortable allowing me to be a part of his grieving within minutes of her death.

Jonathan had a terrible childhood. He said both parents drank. Both were verbally abusive, especially his mother who was jealous of his radio success as a morning disc jockey. She worked at a small 250 watt station and he worked for a 5,000 watt station in Dayton after he got out of the service. He joined the Marines when he was 17 to get away from his parents. He vividly recalled while other parents were hugging and kissing their sons, his mother and father were shoving him toward the train, saying, “Hurry, get on. We don’t want you to miss it.” And he was proud of his military service. He served as one of 90 Marines on the USS Bon Homme Richard under a commander who was also from Ohio, like Jonathan. Since he had everything, I always sent a U.S. Marine item or two like a battle cap or a T-shirt for his November 11 birthday or for Christmas. He loved being a Marine.

When we talked he shared a lot of personal stories. One of my favorites was about Lucille Ball who chided him about refusing to be a guest on her show, “I Love Lucy.” Jon said, “Lucy, I don’t do slap-stick comedy.” she replied. “The trouble with you Jonathan is you don’t bend.” He said, “Oh, I bend, but I don’t bend over.”

And he had a lot of personal medical battles. He was a diabetic so he cautioned, “Roger, don’t send me candy. I can’t eat it.” Since he was an alcoholic, he added, “No booze either. I don’t drink.” Jonathan explained he woke up in a San Francisco hotel with whiskey bottles all over his room and had no idea what happened the night before. At the age of 30 he joined Alcoholic Anonymous and never missed a day or night of attending AA meetings for more than 30 years regardless where he was performing. That’s how he beat alcoholism. Never touched a drink, he related, which was hard when he attended Hollywood parties. “Sometimes people tried to make fun of me, but I could handle them, and did.”

He struggled with mental problems from being bipolar to depression. Jonathan was in and out of mental facilities. I have a suspicion he spent time in the Jacksonville, Illinois, State Hospital because he knew something about the city. I never asked about that. He was very open about battling mental illness. While a patient in a facility, Jonathan said the doctor came into his room and said, “Jonathan, Mrs. Winters and I have decided electro-shock treatments would be helpful to eliminate some of your memories, some of the things you remember, some of your years.” He questioned the doctor, “What years are you going to erase?” “Well, I’m not sure, Jonathan.” The interview ended with Jonathan saying, “And that’s why you’re not going to do the shock treatments.” And they didn’t. I want to emphasize in all of our many conversations not once did I detect any evidence of depression, not a single incident. Most of the time I spent laughing. He was always making me laugh except when he talked about his girlfriend from Illinois who would fly out and visit him for three or four days. That relationship in and by itself is worthy of a column. It was one of the most amazing and loving stories I ever saw unfold a year or so after his wife died. This woman, her name was Cynthia, brought so much happiness to his life, that even he could not understand how it happily happened. And he shared this relationship with me. I think I knew more about it than his divorced daughter Lucinda and his son, also divorced, Jay.

While I proudly possess a signed copy of his book, “Winters’ Tales,” I urged him to write a kind of Norman Vincent Peale book on how he overcame so many adversities in his life to become one of the most clean and creative comedians who ever lived. We laughed together about what he would include in such a book. On May 26, 2002, he wrote in “Winters’ Tales,

“Dear Roger—

Remember, we’re all visitors

We’re just passing through——

don’t blow the visit.

Alway, Jonathan”

Jonathan didn’t blow his “visit.”

AND THEN MY FRIEND

ROYCE ELLIOTT

Royce was struggling with his own set of medical problems when Jonathan died. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I don’t know whether his wife Helen told him. You see, Royce and I loved the humor of Winters. We often talked about flying out over a weekend to visit him in his Montecito, California, home. We had an open invitation. It was on my mental “Bucket List.” So much for the list.

I’ve known Royce since he was a Freshman and I was a Senior at Woodruff High School. We were not pals, just acquaintances. We gradually became closer over the years. When I was a graduate assistant teaching at Bradley one of my first students to enter the speech classroom was Royce. He was the most unprepared prepared student I ever had because he could think and speak on his feet. I would smile as I watched him quickly writing out his speech outline minutes before it was his turn to speak. The outline looked like it had been written by a chicken, but his speech would always be the best. What else would you expect? He got a “B” for the class. Royce complained later, “My friend Roger gave me a B at Bradley,”and then would admit it was the highest grade he received that year.

We had a number of radio programs on a variety of local stations from WTAZ to 94.3 FM to WIRL and later on WOAM starting in 2002. It was a laugh a minute with such national entertainers and sports figures as Barbara Mandrell, Jonathan Winters, Steve Gatlin, Lou Rawls, Jack Buck, Pat Hughes, Randy Hundley, and others. A frequent guest was former House of Representatives leader Bob Michel along with Pete Vonachen, George Shadid, the late Jim Maloof, Mayor Jim Ardis, Sheriff Mike McCoy, State’s Attorney Jerry Brady. We even jumped into local television with a show on cable that was a riot. We ran out of sponsors and I ran out of money.

Royce became like a brother. We were together for years each morning for at least three hours, longer when we went to breakfast. Many times we had lunch together as did anyone since he spent half the time making rounds in the restaurant telling jokes. His joy, yes, his legacy, was making people laugh. He was a master at it. Even though I heard the same jokes over and over and over, I couldn’t help but laugh each time because, well, it was Royce telling it with a laugh in his voice and on his face. Heck, every night for years I went to sleep listening to his tape telling jokes to an appreciative audience at the Gatlin Theater in Myrtle Beach.

Fortunately, we were on the same political page and never argued politics. He didn’t like Bill Clinton and certainly not Barack Obama. An ardent viewer of Fox News, he often called me to repeat breaking news about something Clinton did, like with Monica, and then Obama when he was elected President.

We had a ball, a baseball or two, when he invited me to go to the popular Randy Hundley fantasy camps, first at Busch Stadium in St. Louis, and then to the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa. Royce was the star attraction for the evening banquets and then later on the field. He could hit and he could field, but he couldn’t run. As he joked, “If I could run at I would be at the track.” When he batted during a game against the retired professional players, he usually had a pinch runner at the plate. Once when he was playing in right field, he had a glove on one hand with a sandwich in the other when he tracked down a deep fly ball. He caught the ball and held onto it and the sandwich, winning applause from everyone.

One of the greatest challenges of my life was visiting him in nursing homes and later in Intensive Care at St. Francis as he gradually lost his grip on the life he loved so much. Each visit found him weaker and less able to communicate. It was heart-breaking. Still is. His laugh, his infectious laugh, is but a memory, but will remain, thanks to his tapes and recordings. As Jonathan Winters said, “Remember, we’re all visitors—we’re just passing through— don’t blow the visit.” Royce didn’t.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I feel so fortunate to have had two close and dear friends in Royce and Jonathan. The two of them spent their entire lives making people happy with their special brand of humor and both certainly contributed to my happiness and ability to deal with adversity. This column this month is dedicated to both men. But I would also be remiss if I didn’t express my appreciation to the many people who sent cards, letters, and emails with such supportive messages along with personal phone calls. They came from friends and from people I’ve never met. It’s not easy to lose people you love, but grief is much better managed with the right kind of support along with prayer. I thank God for both.